


cecily smith

by cacowhistle



Series: ad astra per aspera [9]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Love at First Sight, Original Character(s), Shapeshifter Sally, also this isnt nsfw so get that idea out of your heads, i know how this looks. however. sally is not actually a fish, kind of, shes basically an oc now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:47:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29491533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cacowhistle/pseuds/cacowhistle
Summary: “Who are you?” Wilbur asks, raising his eyebrows.She grins, wide and deadly. “Sally,” she says, proudly, and Wilbur is enamored already.“Wilbur Soot,” he says, softly, and something in his chest sparks to life.or;wilbur meets sally, and his life is changed forever.can be read as a standalone fic.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/Sally
Series: ad astra per aspera [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060727
Comments: 44
Kudos: 178





	cecily smith

**Author's Note:**

> little bit of bonus content for ad astra per aspera, since i was struck with motivation and speedran this oneshot. title is the name of a song that fits sally's vibes :]

It starts on a warm April evening in a city just north of the Dream SMP, Wilbur seated on the pier with his legs dangling out over the water. It smells like seasalt and dead fish, and the wood beneath his hands is rough and splintering. One wrong twitch of his finger and he’ll be lamenting splinters for days, he’s sure. Wilbur stares out at the calm seas, guitar strapped to his back, and wonders if he’ll find a place he wants to stay in.

The ocean is dark beneath his dangling legs, enough so that the bottom could be ten feet or twenty miles away, who’s to say? Certainly not him, and he doesn’t intend on falling in to find out.

(Part of him would have, maybe a week or two ago, maybe years ago. Maybe tomorrow night. But tonight, it’s out of the question.)

“Hey sailor,” an unfamiliar voice says from behind him, “careful of the edge.”

Wilbur glances behind him, sees bare brown feet patter against the wooden planks of the pier, a pretty young lady seating herself beside him. Her hair is long and wild and unruly, russet-brown curls tangling into a messy braid about halfway down her back. She grins, all sharp teeth and black eyes, and Wilbur shifts away, just a tad.

“I’m not a sailor,” he says, and he’s not quite sure why that’s the first thing that comes to mind.

“Don’t need to sail to be the sailor sort,” the girl hums, voice lower and raspier than he expected, “you’ve got that traveler-type look about you.”

“Who are you?” Wilbur asks, raising his eyebrows.

She grins, wide and deadly. “Sally,” she says, proudly, and Wilbur is enamored already.

“Wilbur Soot,” he says, softly, and something in his chest sparks to life.

* * *

They talk the entire night through, practically, Sally leading Wilbur around the city by the arm and showing him everything she knows. He learns plenty about her--she’s an orphan, been traveling alone since she was about seven--just a tad young for shapeshifter standards, but she’s never quite fit in anywhere, or so she tells him. Wilbur can’t help but agree--she’s like nothing he’s ever seen, in all his years, in quite possibly the best way. She talks fast and moves faster, her laughter is loud and endearing and her humming and singing is music to his ears, and by the time the sun’s begun going down Wilbur has shared half of his life story, if not more, and they’re seated on the beach as Wilbur begins playing guitar.

She watches his fingers pluck the strings, black eyes wide and shining in the low light of nearby campfires, and he lays out a tune for her, soft and sweet, one he comes up with just by looking at her.

“Pretty,” she says, softly, “awful pretty. Fits your face, it does.”

Wilbur can’t help the blush that dusts his cheeks. He ducks his head with a grin. “You know any good sea shanties?”

Her eyes light up. “Only the best.”

Her singing is just as lovely as her voice is on its own, and she teaches him all sorts of songs, sitting there on the beach. He plays and she sings until the sun’s far past the horizon, and Wilbur almost doesn’t want to leave her for the night.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to.

“Where are you headed off to?” Sally asks, softly, once they’ve worn themselves out a bit. “You said you weren’t stayin’ for long.”

“The Dream SMP,” Wilbur says, gazing out over the ocean. “It’s another few days of walking.”

“Ooh,” she sits up a bit, looking at him. “That’s dangerous, I’ve heard. Dream’s a scary fella.”

“Oh, I’ve met scarier, love,” Wilbur teases, grinning as he leans back on the sand. “You know Philza? Technoblade? Angel of Death and the Blood God’s acolyte?”

Sally stares at him, looking fond and amused. “Warriors like that are practically legends, not folk you run into in the marketplace.”

Wilbur grins, and it feels a touch more wild thanks to her presence. “I used to go to the marketplace _with_ them, they’re practically my family.”

Her face lights up. “So _you’re_ a scary fella too, eh?”

That earns a bark of laughter. Gods, Wilbur can’t stop smiling tonight. “Depends on who you ask,” he says, grinning right back, and Sally swats at his shoulder affectionately, her own laughter echoing into the night.

* * *

Wilbur’s voice is strung through with magic, that much he knows. He’s adorned with the feathers and light of Eden, marked by gods he doesn’t know the names of, they’re so long-dead and gone. Their heritage remains in his blood, he knows, diluted by aeons and humanity. There is a holiness and a divinity in his blood, in his image, in his very being.

He sees the same in Sally, but it is not divinity of a god’s making. It’s all her own, finely crafted with her own two hands, her own soul, a sort of magic that charms people without the glamour behind it.

Wilbur speaks, and people listen. Sally speaks, and people _understand._

She ends up traveling with him, the two of them already attached by the time Wilbur’s set to leave. He doesn’t even have to ask her to come--she shows up to him the next morning on the docks with her bags already packed, already prepared to move.

She _gets_ him, gets this need to _move,_ and he loves her for it.

They set out for the SMP, and they don’t look back.

“Astri, is their name,” Sally says, holding her hands up at an odd angle to outline the constellation. “The deity of stars and stories. The one you pray to.”

Wilbur tips his head back, peering through the gap her hands create. They outline a line of stars, bent with a line outwards like a conductor with his hands raised. Story, song, and starlight, that is what he’s prayed to--he’s never quite put his faith in gods or their names, truth be told. It seems to run in the family.

“I don’t pray,” is what he says instead, raising his eyebrows.

Sally huffs, amused. “Everyone prays. They just don’t realize they’re doin’ it, sailor.”

Wilbur tilts his head, leaning it against her shoulder. “Alright, what do I do that you think is praying?”

She snorts, like he’s just told an awful good joke, and swipes his notebook out of his hands. He yelps, swatting after her hands as if he’ll be able to steal it back. He knows he won’t--she calls herself the _best damn pickpocket this world’s ever seen_ for a good reason.

“The stuff you write in here,” she says, teasingly, “the stories an’ the songs an' the maps of the stars, doofus.”

“That’s hardly praying,” he says, and she just laughs.

“The gods take what they can get.” Sally drops the book back into his hands, and Wilbur cradles it close to his chest like it’s the most precious thing in his world.

“What about you?” He sits up, letting his hands rest in his lap. “Any gods you pray to?”

She hums, softly, leaning her head against his shoulder, this time. “Beare, Vestae, home and love and life--the lively ones. I’ve never quite agreed with the ones who speak of death and war--I much prefer the lively ones, yes.”

 _Caedis,_ something in the back of Wilbur’s mind murmurs, but he pushes down the thought. “They sound like kind ones to be tied to.”

Not even tied to--they are gods she has chosen, he thinks, looking at her--entirely unburdened by the weight of her prayer. It’s something that lifts her up, brings joy to her life. She has never seen gods the way he does, he thinks, faintly. He recalls Technoblade and the voices, and the sharp cruel tone of his goddess and her demands, written in blood spilled by his family’s hands.

He’s never been very fond of gods, now that he thinks of it. But something about the way Sally speaks of them… it makes him feel warmer, makes him feel a little more willing to try them.

“Don’t pray to a god,” Sally says with the air of a warning, “unless it’s by choice.”

 _Bit too late for that,_ he wants to say. Instead, he nods, and lets the tide of the conversation move on.

* * *

It’s on their second week of travel that they find Fundy.

A lost, frightened little fox boy gripping a wooden sword in his clawed hands, pointing it at the two of them. Wilbur sends Sally a bewildered look, and she returns it with a fond smile and a peal of laughter, crouching to meet the boy’s height.

“No need for that, kid,” she says, voice soft and sweet as she holds her arms out. “We aren’t gonna hurt you. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Ignoring the fact that that is very much a lie, Wilbur nods, trying to school his expression into something kinder. The kid stares at them for a few moments more before the sword vanishes, presumably into his inventory, and he takes a few nervous steps forward. Sally hums, smiling.

“Can I pick you up?” She asks, and his eyes light up.

“I wanna be tall,” he says, eagerly, and that’s when he’s caught Wilbur’s heart.

“C’mon up,” he says, leaning down to lift him before Sally can, and the boy lets out an excited little cheer as Wilbur lifts him above his head. He grins at Sally, teasingly.

“Now we’re both taller,” Wilbur says, and Sally punches his shoulder with a playful little snicker.

By the time night falls, Fundy has agreed to stay.

With the beginnings of a family in tow, Wilbur makes it to the Dream SMP, and the rest?

The rest, we all know, is history.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! go follow me for more content on tumblr, twitter, & twitch @ cacowhistle!


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